


i was born sick, but i love it

by talkwordytome



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: But Gwendolyn is more than happy to help her learn, F/F, Fluff, Mildred doesn't quite yet understand her own body, Praise Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: “Oh!” Gwendolyn exclaims, delighted. “Good girl!”Something akin to electric water shoots directly through Mildred’s core at those words. Her knees go weak, and she has to grab the countertop in order to remain standing. She can feel her cheeks and the back of her neck turning bright pink. She swallows, then runs her tongue over her lips.in which this is just a smutty, smutty lil morsel because Mildred Ratched obviously has a praise kink and far be it from me to not write self-indulgent fic about it.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 36
Kudos: 193





	i was born sick, but i love it

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally my first time writing something rated Explicit, like pure smut divorced from a longer multi-chapter work, and I'm feeling v shy about posting it so I hope y'all enjoy it
> 
> Title comes from "Take Me to Church" by Hozier

The first time Mildred notices it, it’s the happiest sort of accident.

They’re in the kitchen doing the dishes after dinner. Mildred washes and Gwendolyn dries, as has become their routine. The radio croons Billie Holiday, and Gwendolyn hums along as she works. It’s early June and the windows are open; the evening breeze is sweet with the smells of gardenia and clover. Mildred’s sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and her hair is gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. It’s so peaceful, their little bubble of domesticity, that she feels light enough to float away on the summer wind.

They finish the plates and silverware. Mildred pushes a lock of hair from her face. She offers Gwendolyn a shy smile, and Gwendolyn beams in return. She wraps an arm around Mildred’s waist and pulls her close, then kisses her temple.

“Well,” Gwendolyn sighs, her breath warm and tickling on Mildred’s skin, “I suppose all we have left is the cookware, right?”

“Those are done,” Mildred says, moving slightly out of Gwendolyn’s arms so she can pull the plug from the sink drain. “I washed up as I made dinner so we wouldn’t have to worry about them after.”

“Oh!” Gwendolyn exclaims, delighted. “Good girl!”

Something akin to electric water shoots directly through Mildred’s core at those words. Her knees go weak, and she has to grab the countertop in order to remain standing. She can feel her cheeks and the back of her neck turning bright pink. She swallows, then runs her tongue over her lips.

Gwendolyn, busy putting the dishes away in their proper cabinets, appears not to notice. 

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Gwendolyn says, affection threaded through each word.

“Yes,” Mildred says faintly as the feeling begins to return to her legs. “I--yes. We…lucky. Yes. Right. We are. Very lucky.” 

The second time is just a few days after the first. It’s late, and they’re lounging on the sofa. Mildred is sipping at a glass of rosé, and Gwendolyn is nursing a bourbon sour as she works on the crossword puzzle. Mildred is leaned up against Gwendolyn, watching idly as her pencil flies across the newspaper page. Gwendolyn’s brow is furrowed and she occasionally mutters to herself as she attempts to work out clues. She seems particularly stuck on fourteen down.

“‘Flower of South America’,” she says, squinting at it. “Ends with the letter n.” She sighs. “I’ve thought of all the South American flowers I know and none of them fit.”

Mildred considers this for a moment. “Well,” she says, “what if it’s not _actually_ a flower?”

“Then what would it be?”

“What else blooms in South America?” Mildred asks, talking mostly to herself. “Besides flowers.” 

She drums her fingers against her leg, then gasps. “Try ‘Amazon’,” she says. “The river. It blooms in South America, doesn’t it?”

Gwendolyn does as instructed, then laughs. She kisses the crown of Mildred’s head. “You’re right,” she says. “It fits. My special, brilliant girl.”

There’s that increasingly familiar warmth again, this time accompanied by arousal--hot and tangy--in her panties. She crosses and uncrosses her legs against the throbbing in her vulva. Her heart speeds up, but it’s not at all unpleasant.

“It wasn’t so difficult,” Mildred says, attempting to shrug it off. 

Gwendolyn smiles.

Gwendolyn has never been reticent when it comes to complimenting Mildred, but after the crossword puzzle Mildred can’t help but notice that the smallest things seem to earn her positively effusive praise. Reorganizing the pantry, vacuuming the living room, locating a missing earring, zipping the back of Gwendolyn’s dress, remembering to pick up a box of baking soda at the grocery store: all of these things end in Mildred being swept into Gwendolyn’s arms, end in Gwendolyn declaring that there is no one so lovely, so brilliant, so perfect, so _good_ as Mildred.

Mildred still can’t quite figure out the… _physical reaction_ these words elicit. She doesn’t mind it, exactly, but in private moments she can’t help but wonder that there might be something wrong with her, that she might have an inherently filthy, corrupted mind. After all, what sort of a person becomes aroused by innocent compliments? She resolves to ask Gwendolyn about it, because Gwendolyn always has the answers to matters like this one, but every time she gathers up enough courage she falters. She doesn’t think she can stomach the look of hurt, disgusted betrayal she’s certain will come when Gwendolyn discovers what her sweet words do to Mildred, the things they make her feel.

It’s nighttime, and they’re getting ready for bed. Gwendolyn is sat at the vanity, moisturizing her face, and Mildred is in bed. She has a book open on her lap but she can’t concentrate enough to read it. She sighs. And again, louder, when Gwendolyn doesn’t react to the first.

Gwendolyn looks over her shoulder. “Can I help you?” she laughs.

Mildred sits up. She pulls her legs into her chest and props her chin on her knees. She stares at Gwendolyn. She chews her bottom lip.

“There’s something wrong with me,” Mildred blurts, then blushes.

Worry flashes across Gwendolyn’s face. She stands up and crosses the room until she’s sitting on the bed next to Mildred. She presses the backs of her hands to Mildred’s cheeks and forehead, checking for fever. When she finds none, she squints, scrutinizing Mildred.

“Why?” she asks. “Darling, what is it? Where does it feel badly?”

Mildred grabs Gwendolyn’s hands and kisses them. “Nowhere,” she says. “It doesn’t hurt anywhere. It’s not…that sort of wrong.”

Gwendolyn tilts her head to the side. “I don’t understand,” she says.

Mildred twists her hands in her lap. She looks down at them rather than meet Gwendolyn’s eyes. She huffs a sigh. “Lately,” she says slowly, “when you…when you compliment me, it--I…I feel rather…rather, mmm, _hot and bothered_.” Her blush deepens. “For want of a better phrase.”

When she finally glances back up at Gwendolyn, she does not find the condemnation she feared there’d be. Instead, Gwendolyn’s eyes are bright with mischief and the corners of her mouth are twitching as she fights back a smile. 

There’s a part of Mildred that’s relieved, but an even larger part of her that’s confused and injured by Gwendolyn’s reaction. Her mouth trembles. “Why are you laughing at me?” she asks.

“Oh no, honey, _no_ ,” Gwendolyn reassures, cooing and giggling all at once. “I’m not laughing at you. I promise. Truly.”

Mildred sniffles and pouts. “Then what’s so funny?” she asks.

Gwendolyn dissolves into a fresh fit of giggles. She wipes a tear away from her eye. “It’s just,” she gasps, “it’s just that I _knew_ , darling. And I’ve been teasing you.”

It takes a moment for Gwendolyn’s words to sink in, but once they have Mildred's eyes widen. “You knew?” she demands. “You _knew_? The _whole time_?”

Gwendolyn pulls Mildred close, despite Mildred’s whines, and hiccoughs little laughs into her neck. 

“Sweetheart,” Gwendolyn says, once she’s calmed down, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but it was fairly obvious.”

Mildred grumbles but eventually relents to Gwendolyn nuzzling her. “But _why_ do I feel that way?” she asks. “It’s--it seems terribly _unseemly_ , Gwendolyn.”

Gwendolyn cups Mildred’s face in her hands. “ _Unseemly_ ,” she repeats, smiling sadly. “There’s nothing unseemly about it, my love. It’s--how should I explain it,” she murmurs to herself. “Sometimes words can…can have the same effect on a person as touches, and--and physical affection.”

She kisses Mildred directly on her pulse point, and Mildred tries not to moan. 

“And when you combine the words,” Gwendolyn whispers, “with the touches…well. That can be a _very_ divine experience indeed.”

“Oh?” Mildred manages weakly, her eyes fluttering closed, as Gwendolyn continues to press kisses up and down her neck.

“Mhmm,” Gwendolyn says. When she pulls back her eyes are stormy and wild. “Would you like to try it?” 

Mildred nods, just the once, and that is all the encouragement Gwendolyn needs.

Gwendolyn grips Mildred’s waist in her hands as she pushes her back against the headboard. Her fingers trace feathery arcs up and down Mildred’s bare legs, lingering at the tops of Mildred’s thighs to enjoy the way it makes Mildred squirm and shudder.

“Are you my good girl?” Gwendolyn asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mildred pants.

“I know you are,” Gwendolyn purrs. “And do you know what it is that good girls do?”

Mildred shakes her head.

“They do,” Gwendolyn says, pausing to kiss the inside of Mildred’s left thigh, and then the inside of her right, “precisely as they’re told.”

Gwendolyn is excruciatingly patient in her seduction. Her fingertips softly graze Mildred’s hair; her lips plant gentle kisses to Mildred’s temples, her neck, her clavicles. Graceful, tender hands cup Mildred’s breasts through the thin fabric of her nightgown, before working their way beneath it to tease Mildred’s sensitive nipples. Slowly, slowly, Gwendolyn pulls Mildred’s nightgown up her waist, until Mildred’s stomach is exposed. She runs her tongue down Mildred’s torso, from her breastbone to the sensitive spot just above Mildred’s pubic bone. 

It’s nearly absurd, practically improbable, how wet Mildred already is, despite not receiving any sort of direct vaginal stimulation. If she were more lucid she might be embarrassed, but presently all she can focus on are Gwendolyn’s fingers, her mouth all over her body, the words she whispers as she goes. 

“Mildred,” Gwendolyn whispers, “my beautiful, brilliant, perfect girl. Are you going to come for me?”

Mildred moans, so loudly that she immediately claps an embarrassed hand over her mouth. But Gwendolyn pulls Mildred’s hand away. 

“None of that,” she admonishes. “I want to hear every last delicious noise.”

She presses the heel of her hand flush to Mildred’s vulva, and this new pressure elicits a second moan, even louder than the first.

“There,” Gwendolyn says. “Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Mildred’s hips buck upwards to meet Gwendolyn’s hands. Her thighs are trembling; every single muscle in her body is poised on the brink of something, singing out, begging for more and for more and for _more_. She and Gwendolyn are a fluid tangle of eager limbs; flushed and heady with their shared desire. 

“You’re _so_ tense, baby,” Gwendolyn murmurs. “We can’t have that, now can we?” Her hand returns to Mildred’s clitoris, and Mildred gasps. 

“You deserve,” Gwendolyn says, her words low and raw and wanting, “the most _exquisite_ release.”

“ _Gwendolyn_ ,” Mildred pants, her chest heaving.

“Yes, baby?” 

“ _Please_ ,” Mildred whimpers, nearly coming apart at the seams.

Gwendolyn smiles, merry and wicked. “ _There's_ the word I was waiting for,” she teases.

Gwendolyn knows where to suck and where to stroke, where to apply firm pressure and where to lightly tease. She thrusts two slender fingers inside of Mildred, then licks her clitoris with long, practiced strokes. It’s glorious, so many sensations all at once that Mildred thinks she might simply die and ascend directly to heaven. It wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

Mildred can feel herself sliding towards ecstasy, can feel the slow, inevitable climb of orgasm. Sweat blossoms in the hollow of her neck and her pulse jumps. But it’s Gwendolyn’s bright blue eyes staring into her own brown ones, so full of earnest desire to help Mildred simply _let go_ , that undo a knot in Mildred that’s been tied so tightly and for so long that she’s nearly forgotten it’s even there.

In the end, finally, it’s the scrape of a fingernail against her labia combined with a firm tongue to her clitoris that sends Mildred with a moan so loud and long that it feels pulled from the very depths of her soul. 

Gwendolyn stretches, languid and luxurious. She gets a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wipes her mouth and chin, then very purposefully licks the fingers that were inside Mildred, waggling her eyebrows suggestively as she does it. She lies down so her head is on Mildred’s chest.

“Your heart is racing,” Gwendolyn observes idly, her hand resting on Mildred’s breastbone as it rises and falls.

“Mmm,” Mildred agrees, her eyes closed. She finds that she is too warm and heavy to move. She quite likes it. She opens a single eye. “That’s entirely your doing. Or perhaps _undoing_ is more accurate here?”

Gwendolyn laughs. She curls one arm around Mildred’s waist, and uses her other hand to trace lazy patterns around Mildred’s belly button. Mildred purrs and preens like a particularly contented kitten and nuzzles her face against Gwendolyn’s.

“Was I a good girl?” she whispers, and though it’s meant to be funny she can hear the naked vulnerability in her voice. She winces. 

Gwendolyn, though, kisses Mildred, again and again and again. “Darling,” she breathes. “You were the _best_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did y'all have fun? I know I did when I was writing it 😌😉✨
> 
> If you have any requests, feel free to drop 'em here or visit me on tumblr @ anneofgreengaybles!


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